


this year again there is spring

by ronniesshoes



Series: 30 Days of OTP [6]
Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Brian May, M/M, Making Up, Top Roger Taylor (Queen), but it sounds better than the english channel, mentions of the cornish sea which i'm not sure is a real thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-10-14 12:57:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20601158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ronniesshoes/pseuds/ronniesshoes
Summary: sometimes words are not enough/gentle make-up sex





	this year again there is spring

"I'm sorry."

Roger can't bring himself to answer. He sits on the edge of the bed, looks out the window at the rain-washed streets and the grey sky. He thinks of the colours of the Cornish sea, thinks of trips to the beach with his family, the cliffs that towered over him, so high up they touched the sky.

He listens to the rustle of clothes, tries to pick out Brian's breathing, but he can't bring himself to turn around and look at him. He imagines he can hear the wind outside.

Brian comes into view, sits down on his knees between Roger's legs. He's naked now, and he presses his cheek to Roger's thigh, face obscured by his hair.

Roger's hand twitches. 

"Roger." 

Brian takes his hand, kisses his palm, presses it against his own cheek. It's warm to the touch, and Roger is surprised; he looks so cold. 

He looks out the window again. A smatter of snow clings to a patch of grass on the road verge. It's the last snow, he can tell.

Brian lowers his head, buries his nose in the crook of Roger's inner thigh. The notches of his spine are visible through the pale skin.

Roger lifts a hand to stroke him between the shoulder blades, and Brian visibly shudders. He lets his hand fall back against his side. 

Brian's hands tighten around the fabric of Roger's jeans, and he looks up again, all dark eyes and messy hair. In his eyes are a silent question, and when he reaches for Roger's belt, Roger lets him.

The wind shakes the tree outside. Roger thinks of the cathedral in the distance, small from the top of the hill, almost invisible in the morning fog.

He lifts his hips so Brian can pull his trousers and pants down. Brian presses kisses to the inside of his thighs. Roger's cock twitches half-heartedly. 

He exhales through his nose when Brian takes him in his mouth. He sits back on his hands, spreads his legs a little wider. Brian eagerly presses closer. 

A car passes by their window, the kind of car Roger wanted so bad when he was 15. Brian has a hand wrapped around the base of his dick, and he's sucking on the head like it's an ice lolly. 

When he looks away from the window and down again, Brian lifts his gaze, and they look each other in the eye. Brian's mouth slackens around him, and Roger lifts a hand to brush a curl away from his forehead. 

Brian looks away, swallows him down to the root.

Warmth pools in Roger's stomach. His hand tangles in Brian's hair and he's seized by the urge to pull, to make it hurt just a little, but he finds that he's unable to, and his hand brushes along Brian's cheekbone instead, thumb caressing the corner of his mouth where the skin is stretched taut.

"Stop," he whispers, and Brian lets his cock slip from his mouth. He folds his hands in his lap, looks up at Roger through his lashes with worried eyes.

Roger wraps his hands around Brian's upper arms, tugs him up on his knees first and then makes him sit on the bed next to him. He kisses Brian's apologetic mouth, tastes himself on his tongue. 

"I'm sorry," Brian says again when they break away.

Roger traces a wiggly line on Brian's thigh. "I know."

"What happens now?"

Roger kisses him again, pulls his sweater over his head and kicks off his trousers. 

He finds lube in the drawer of his nightstand. It's an old thing, inherited from his grandmother and with the knob long gone. There used to be a picture of him and Clare on it when she had it in her room, and one of his mum, young and sunkissed and smiling. 

He squeezes the last lube out of the tube, slicks up his dick. Brian is watching him from the edge of the bed but crawls closer when their eyes catch. 

Roger trails kisses up the length of his body once he's settled on his back, attempts to soothe away the tension that has lingered between them for days. Brian's hands are warm on his back, his mouth a noisy thing Roger can't bring himself to silence. 

When he pushes inside, he feels a sting in his throat, caught in the relief of being close again. He never allowed himself to really miss him.

He keeps his pace slow, focuses on Brian's hands on him and the way their mouths fit together. Brian throws his head back and hits it on the headboard, and Roger smoothes a hand over it and kisses down his throat. 

The room seems lighter, and he finds a smile for Brian. When it's returned, warm and crooked, he realises how genuine it is. 

The last tension leaves his body and he relaxes into the moment; the warm hands on him, the slick heat around him, Brian's eyes so wonderfully familiar. He lets Brian reach between their bodies and wrap a hand around himself when he's close, and Roger covers his noisy mouth with his own, swallows the groan that precedes the hot spurts of come spilling over their heated skin.

When he looks out the window again, Brian is fast asleep, head resting on Roger's stomach. Roger is tracing patterns on a naked shoulder, slightly cool to the touch, and outside the sun has broken through the clouds.

He thinks of the first days of Spring.

**Author's Note:**

> remember you can subscribe to the series! + come talk to me on tumblr @ ronniesshoes


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